


karmic universe

by Softsuccs



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Development, Grimoire Cards, Other, POV Alternating, Slow Build, a yearning simulator: being absolutely disgusted by your wants and needs, and the excruciating desire to change and be a better person, oc origin story btw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-24 17:01:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21741391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Softsuccs/pseuds/Softsuccs
Summary: "Thank you, sweet friend. You are a gift and a delight. You are more dear than my mother, for you have given birth to me a thousand times." —Thank you, Verse 154i:5.
Relationships: Guardian (Destiny)/Other(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	1. dolce

She was the ever-queen. She didn't aspire future: MA RA was the two-syllable name of future revealed. 

She sat on her throne known as the universe and considered its imperfection, smiling at its subliming potential like a mother would at her child's first step. Awoken made mortal / still she burned with an infinite fractal fire, for she was the lone power that brought death with her. 

Then, that was Distributary— world of three-rings and sweet blackberry tea. Now, she watched the Schism unfold— its wound shook her down to the very last atomic fiber of her being, and she could do nothing but reap what remained of her people. A fork in the road, she thought. So she seized the fork with a hot iron fist, because what queen hadn't conquered hardship before? Mara was perfectly aware of her people's doom, to show their loyalty through tender sacrifice ( it was how she shaped them ) and one day, those riven would see it, too. 

This was when Riven coiled around her neck, who took the form of a shimmering-gold snake, whispered into Mara's ear: "your watch is eternal. But who will watch you sew your [schemes] into material-reality?" 

"Death itself," Mara answered. 

"What you made [possible]."

Mara hummed, neither a yes or a no.

"To subjugate and rule over a race as [rich] as this... would be a terrible waste if lost."

Mara descended her throne and stood on the ledge that overhung infinity. Her finger penned the familiar outline of Pallas and Vesta, and along the Belt that stretched for impossible miles. Mara had always been a hermit. She hid within herself, tucked somewhere in the space between two-soul. She spent hours there, creating secrets. Secrets, people closest to her saw, not because she was careless, but by necessity of her plan. Mara's hand gripped the railing of her court, her own space in which Riven had invaded time and time again. 

"It will not be a terrible waste."

"Could you say the same about your [mother]?" 

Mara said nothing to Riven's many laughing mouths. 

"Bargain, and be happy with just that," Mara said.

Riven’s mandibles clicked with a wild and almost sweet delight. She took the shape of a mighty lindworm, and unable to stifle the curl that measured itself along the bend of her mouths, she loomed over her host. Mara’s heart was heavy at this but held her pose with iota movement like grand statues of her favorite mythos.

Riven leaned in; Mara felt the hot air from her snouts.

“Tell me … tell me of your [dreams].”

“Child.” Sjur Eido corrected, passing the threshold and bursting into Mara’s court with all the respect and calm of a crash-landed Ketch. As always, her beloved was a sight to behold: Paladin armor full-displayed, bow against her back that doubled her height and made her twice as imposing. Sjur’s hands, those same hands dressed in war and victory on the daily, entropy compounded, delicately held Mara’s. Without a sliver of reserve or self-doubt, blessed be her straightforward heart, which unseamed and spilled itself forth into a single demand: 

“We want a child.” 

Riven’s talons rhythmically tapped against the geode floor, perhaps juggling this wish as a bold dare or outright foolishness. She was left silenced, staring at them. Then the crushing reminder was thus: Mara’s face, so remote without a line of uncertainty detected. Queen of the Awoken, Egged-God, did everything for a reason. Her Wrath would be terrible and swift if nothing went accordingly. Riven tightened around the star-crossed lovers, tasting the air. She nodded— Mara and Sjur did the same. 

So marked the heir of Her secrets, the virtue of her nemesis, and with a name already prepared. 

First, there was a kugelblitz: the intense culmination of dying stars, secrets secured before the birth of the Sol system, in which, with a single beat of Ahamkara wings, dark mass collapses and scatters; volatilized, left nothing but pure cosmic arcana for the taking. Mara reached out and felt what could be, such promise unanimously colored with sweet and nameless sorrow. She couldn’t help but think of Osana. Was this motherhood ( something Mara sought to understand, to map out the lies parents tell the child yet never could )? 

Why was it all tinged in sadness?

Sayeth Mara Sov, “We are strict proof made eternal: the fundamental polarity of the universe exemplified in the war between old gods and the ever-expanding void of space. We of their ageless conflict in human configuration, that essential truth, has kept us alive for generations. You are not born from calamity, but of calculated lies yet to be revealed. This is your birthright— and that is all I will give to you.”

Reality itself pushed and pulled.

Sayeth Sjur Eido, “You are YISUN UEL, named after the eldest Harbinger. HARK, the song that will rend Deep and Sky for centuries to come. I will watch with pride as you unfold the enigma that is your mother one day.”

Reality finally teared, screaming. 

Sayeth Riven, in one thousand voices: 

“FIND CERTAINTY WITHIN THE [HORIZON].”

Cut from fire, these blinding shapes, Riven’s maw crushed light and exhaled a pulse: the wish made true. All at once, there stirred a half-forgotten tenderness beneath Mara's breast as Sjur held her hand. Together, they watched as the artistry of their careful design came to life.

The child drew breath, a light dawning in little eyes. 

Riven, whose head now in the form of a mother crocodile's, took Yisun from the cosmos and kept him safe between her jaws, then turned and lowered her head for Mara and Sjur to see. Cradled, screaming bloody murder like any other child, Mara was mystified. He was perfect. Simple. His life now a long, formless fabric she would later cut. She would set him on a particular path until it was well-trodden and blood-ridden, for this was holy law for EVERY Awoken: to obey their Queen. 

The entirety of her plan, start to finish, limned itself in her dreamy smile. It would only be a matter of time.

But one thing was certain as of now;

He had Sjur’s eyes.


	2. per aspera ad astra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riven and Yisun -- a confession.

Every year the family crest on your armor changes; you know only temporary homes. You are sixty years and seven hundred and twenty months old ( the cusp of adulthood— old enough to attend Techeun rituals, too young to practice arcane ), and also at that age where curiosity met ambition. So Yisun Uel of elysian lineage, why do you overthink? Why, in the dead of Rheasilvia nights, do you scream out, demanding to know who you are? The question repeats like a torrent of white noise crashing against your skull, succulent yet almost sad. 

I know why.

But I cannot speak from this cage. My tongue is cut. 

One day, in those gardens as artificial as my promises, you came to me. I sat with you and offered you shade beneath my wings, waiting for you to speak. When your lips parted, I saw a quiet alcove: the place where you sheltered your fear and dreams and doubts all in the space of a single heartbeat. Then you said:

“Something’s wrong.” 

“What ails you, o mirror mine?”

“A problem I’ve had for sixty years.” 

“Queen Mara Sov beats you by eons.”

“As a Queen should,” you mused, “but I never see her afflicted by such ancient conflict.”

“Who says she isn’t?” I laughed. 

“Her eyes.” you simply replied. 

I stroked a claw against the grass, nodding.

“May I ask,” I began, mapping out your desires, “do you believe the eyes are mirrors to one’s soul?”

“No.” your answer was quick and true, and promptly added, “that is simply humanity’s attempt at making anatomy sound poetic.” 

“Reality is hardly poetic. Why do you think mortals do such a thing?" 

“It is in their nature, always searching for hope. They are children.” 

“Young and naive, they are,” I agreed, “It appears time has only caused their condition to worsen. Who knows when they’ll face their final doom.” 

“So they scurry to find the truth... ” 

You shifted ( whether uncomfortably or impressed, was unfathomable ) and stared into my eyes, neither of us blinking. You, you were nothing like the Queen's dry as stone people. You were so much more, and that's what disgusted you. But sweet Yisun, may I tell you a secret? 

Wanting always hurts. 

“Ah, I see what you did there,” you finally realized.

It was only a taste. I stood, mirth stretching across my great hide as I neatly folded my wings back into place. My efforts were sound. 

“Like children, they must learn.” I said, returning to my basking rock. 

The Queen sent me to talk to you, then wished me to never do so again. 

You and I are stuck in cages.

We do not deserve happy endings.


	3. sic itur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uldren and Yisun -- an unsent transmission.

Nephew. Feels weird, but surprisingly, there's no scowl. Not that our familial bond matters— I’m forbidden to even tell you. Just as Riven and Sjur and finally my sister herself are. You, eliminated from the equation as soon as you've arrived. Well, take my word and plunge it deep into your heart: I speak from experience. 

My Crows have kept a keen eye on you, Yisun. You spent most of your childhood in agate cathedrals, studying queenslaw doctrine, where you also became interested in the fundamental art of Ancient arcane. You are now a hundred and ninety-three, a ruthless member of the Queen’s court. Your fierce passion alone has won several cases, to which I’ve attended all, including the hearing of my former agent, turned Tangled Shore smuggler. He walked as a free man, and like many others, you expose your bleeding heart to see my people to a fair trial. 

Eventually, someone will cut it out of your chest. 

I’ve noticed the, ah, cunning work you’ve done for my sister as of late. Petty scandals, assassination attempts, exile sentences, all I was present at, but absolutely no trace of them in our records. I wouldn’t care if this was some randomly selected aristocrat, trying too hard to kiss royal ass... I'm worried about you. 

Oh, the public’s reaction would be brutal! Can you imagine Master of Crows, God of the Outer Worlds, worried? I’m a stalwart protector, teller of tales, beloved hero amongst the Awoken— they know a face, a name, and that is all they will ever know. My scars are a thousand years deep. I am rotten to the core, feelings well-hidden under drama and attitude. That is an Uldren for the public eye, constructed by my own need to feel important. To be hated and revered all at once is the loneliest feeling in the world, and I pray you’ll never feel it. 

Yisun, sweet capable Yisun, I’ve not the slightest inclination why Mara had you. 

Our mother, your grandmother, was… imperially removed. For me, there is no love. There is no respect. Osana Sov is better off dead because now I know I’ll never have a mother who came with us, who didn’t expect absolute perfection from her kids. After our dad left, Mara moved forward. But I chose to stay angry, simmering through the unmaking. Mind you, this was when we were humans, so I blamed everything that ever went wrong in my life on the Traveler. The grudge is still there, escalated a thousandfold. 

Maybe Mara only wants to do better than Osana. 

The day I understand her motives is the day I’ll die in a star-studded battlefield screaming her name. Maybe it’s best you’re kept in the dark, too. 

Keep your wits about you, Yisun. My wings aren’t meant to fly, not anymore. But a crow’s watch is eternal.


	4. no tomorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> introducing: Rheshu.

It hurt. 

That first gasp: years of space-time wrapping itself around a pile of charred bones. She took shape, expanded into wriggling fingers and a rising chest cased in iron. There were words on her mouth once. Her teeth gritted as if to finish a sentence centuries old, but nothing came out. So silence sets in, wedging itself deep between the spaces of her rib cage, nearly choking her— shaky hands reaching for a weapon that was not there despite instinct. 

She stood and saw desolate: ash, skeletons, bent rifles. She stared into their empty eyes, transfixed. 

Neck and neck, tooth to tooth, flames and gunfire and screaming… a blue crack that split the sky. 

Then boom. 

“Fuck!” Rheshu jolted from her sweat-ridden bed, disorientated and wheezing. 

“I tried to wake you up,” Nyx said. She floated up to Rheshu’s face where her eyes constricted against Nyx’s blue core, therein her light washed away all the past ghosts that still clung to her Guardian’s sticky skin. “You doing okay?”

She ran her fingers through messy, blue hair and nodded plaintively. Clearly a lie. 

“Y’know, sometimes I wonder what it’s like to null my age-old skull with booze every night and day, getting into drunken fights because someone looked at me weird. I guess I’d be okay too.” Nyx observed.

“It’s too early to psychoanalyze me,” Rheshu groaned.

“It’s 4 p.m.” 

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

Rheshu picked herself up and snatched her Cormorant Titan mark before slamming the apartment door behind her. 

Battle of Six Fronts was the City’s darkest hour for reasons beyond the obvious. Certainly it shattered the legend of the Wall’s infallibility, shaking Earth’s one and only society to its very foundations. But it was also a remarkable success— albeit by the skin of their teeth. Hundreds of Titans huddled together to lick their wounds and lament their losses. Their numbers dwindled, and in turn, their morale, which had ushered in a new generation of Guardians in desperate need of training. 

Rheshu volunteered. And by Vex machinations, would clock her past-self in the jaw. She buckled and tightened her belt as she wound through the Tower’s housing-complex hallways, silver armor materializing around a six-foot-five body. She was big, but not the biggest Titan at the Tower. 

“Well, look who’s finally up!” Andal shouted from across the Tower’s plaza, at which Rheshu threw her hands up in mock surrender. 

“Got caught up in those glorified fool errands you call bounties,” Rheshu retorted.

“Right,” Andal said slowly, “the eye-bags say otherwise.” 

“Hey, mirrors aren’t supposed to talk back!” 

“This mirror can and will always call your bluff.” 

Rheshu scoffed and bore the jab in quiet defeat. 

“What’s wrong? I thought you were fluent in sarcasm.” Andal laughed, his face softening. 

“No, it’s just,” Rheshu began, flicking her stiletto knife out and used the teeth to comb her hair back into its pompadour. “How many?”

“A lot. Nothin’ you can’t handle, Big Mama,” He reassured. “They’re waiting for you in the Hall of Guardians. Saint’s been in there meantime instructing the seventeen different ways to appropriately hold pigeons.” 

“Jeez,” Rheshu remarked, choosing to ignore her given nickname.

Turning the corner, she saw them— Newborns gathering and chatting, sitting on the tables, oblivious to what hell awaited them. She’s excited. 

“Eyes up.” Rheshu bellowed as she descended the stairs. All at once, they fell into line: about twenty-five Newborns forming a solid wall of muscle and mismatched armor. Shoulders were back, arms at their sides, eyes filled with more fear than pride, Rheshu noted. Saint-14 quickly sat up, gesturing to emit Rheshu’s presence. 

“Friends!” Saint-14 exclaimed, “This is Rheshu: Battle of Six Fronts veteran, one of many builders of the First Wall, my shield-sister, stalwart member of the Pilgrim Guard— titles to live up to, perhaps surpass.” 

“Watch it, Saint. Too much hope and it’ll make them sick.”

“Doesn’t hurt to spoil them now and again.” He settled his hand onto her shoulder, “so try not to scare them too badly.” 

He left the room laughing. Rheshu’s eyes remained forward. 

“I don’t care if you went through nine layers of hell to get here, or the tragic backstory you think you lived before resurrection. Already your karma’s out of balance if I’m the one training you. Follow my orders, and we’ll get along nicely.”

* * *

The air was frigid. That was to be expected in the Cosmodrome, but thankfully all the running kept her warm. This was the Newborn's first foray— nothing too eventful— just simple patrols, undertaken beneath Rheshu’s watchful eyes. She warned them not to become cocky just because they were given a second chance. Yet after a day’s worth of hearing “Guardian Down!” every five fucking seconds, it became apparent their practice could use a little divine intervention. 

They sucked, Rheshu bluntly put it. 

She sighed, took off her Helm of Inmost Light and pinched the bridge of her nose— not out of frustration, but exhaustion. For a Titan, sleep was overrated; dreams were near constantly plagued with tasks left unaccomplished, enemies left unslain, memories left unsolved: a different Rheshu, from a different world, forced to face them night after night until the real one woke up. Sometimes when she was bent over mission reports at ungodly hours, she caught herself thinking about that other Rheshu. Worrying about her. She tried not to linger on it for too long. 

So to pass time, Rheshu fished out a cigar. Hands patted around her silver armor… Did she really forget her lighter again?

_Bang._

The shot made her jump into action, ducking low with Hard Light in hand. She was heaving, heart hammering, eyes darting about frantically… She expected a barrage of bullets and Fallen screams to ensue, only to her surprise, a silent chill crept over the canyon. She inhaled, her cigar now lit. Rheshu’s stance loosened. 

A closed-net comm line crackled:

“Forgot it again? You’re worse than me!” 

“Orchus!” Rheshu snarled.

The woman materialized in front of Rheshu, shouldering her sniper. Orchus was an enormous black and white Exo; slight and lithe with gold lupine armor. Hated to admit it, but Hunter fashion was always in tip-top condition, even in the midst of battle. Just being near her made Rheshu squint. It was certainly an improvement since their first meeting in Old Chicago: she was a fragile, trembling thing, broken vocal circuits with every inch of her body covered in thick foliage. They made their way to the Last City together, inseparable ever since. 

“You’re already yelling. I think what you meant to say was thank you.”

“Thank you.” Rheshu said through clenched teeth. 

“Vanguard make you do this?” Orchus gestured toward the rough-housing Newborns.

“Yeah. Babysitting the… the— what did Andal call them?”

“Kinderguardians.” 

Rheshu canted her head and puffed her cigar.

“It’s better than being cooped up in the Tower.” Orchus said with a deep huff, elbowing Rheshu in the side. Rheshu didn’t flinch.

“Sure.”

“You okay?” 

“Just hungover.”

“Can’t Nyx make it go away? An inappropriate application of Light-centric technology, sure. But you’re in pain—”

“I explicitly tell her not to.” 

Orchus paused. Her rifle was near as long as her, and with soft mechanical whirs, dug the muzzle into the dirt and rested her weight on the butt. 

“Pretty lame excuse if you ask me. Tell me what’s really going on, Rheshu.” 

“Just haven’t been out in awhile.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all.” 

“Well,” Orchus readied her sniper, “I’m always out. And you’re always welcome to join me and the crew. There’s a better excuse for ya.” 

“Fine.” Rheshu admitted, powerful body leaning forward. Ill-advised though it was, Rheshu kissed her, catching heat and live wires on a neon tongue. Rare were moments like these— where the world seemed to stop, where nothing else mattered aside from the closing space between them. Rheshu reached for her girlfriend’s hand, but hesitated. Her hand then retracted— 

Rheshu pulled away completely, and saw Orchus smiling. At least that shut her up. 

“LADY RHESHU, EONAR’S SPARROW-SURFING AGAIN!” 

Rapid Sparrow honking. An explosion. 

Rheshu rolled her eyes, Orchus gave a curt nod. In tight-lipped petulance, she attended to her Kinderguardians, calming them down. Orchus had taken her leave not long after. It made sense. Orchus’ time was usually preoccupied with scout-parties, mapping long-buried sites and killing long-chained horrors. She was always led away to some war-torn planet with Cayde and Shiro in tow, never to be heard of again for days, weeks even. They’d come home whenever they felt like it, sometimes with the schematics of a long-lost Exotic of a Warlock’s wet dream.

“Get your asses in line!” Rheshu roared, clapping her hands together. 

They did as they were told. They looked scared. That fear was plastered on her face once— paralyzed by fright, by the crippling threat of the unknown, for another thing the Light-bearers may nurture was a gift much bigger than them. Though on rare occasions, some wanted to go back into the ground. Too much for them to handle. Rheshu’s still haunted by the horrific and creative ways Guardians found to kill themselves.

“Okay,” she began, “wipe those looks off your faces. You want to charge into battle looking like you pissed on your Marks?” 

They stared at one another, shrugging.

“Up here.” She said, snapping her fingers. “Always up here. You have to keep your eyes forward. On your mentor, on the battlefield, on your objective. You want your fireteam to operate like a well oiled-machine, fuck, everyone does, your aspirations are nothing new. But you have to be the one to hold everyone together, to turn your back on the violence and shield them. No other Class can do that.” 

“No other?” A voice behind the hulking bodies of twenty-four Titans sneered. “Become too reliant on a powerhouse and the whole team will fall apart without your precious shield. Excluding a Warlock’s awesome powers and a Hunter’s wit only makes you look naive.”

Rheshu actually flinched for a moment before her shock gave way to affront.

“No one said anything about exclusion.” She retorted.

“You just did.” He scoffed. “Hunter’s are the insomniac, adrenaline-junkies, while Warlocks are boring, always buried in books. And we, as Titans, are the triggerhappy, prone-to-violence, empty-headed machines that are always there to save the day!”

“Yes, and?”

“Why not give others credit where credit is due.”

“You sound insecure. If you don’t trust yourself or your own team, then die.” She said, monotoned. 

“That’s not what I—”

“I don’t care.” Rheshu interrupted, “And it’s not because I’m heartless, although that’s a debate I’d rather be having, but I am here as your mentor, not a mother you can spit your opinions at... Can I at least see the face I’m yelling at.” 

The group divided, the show-off had a face. He was human, silver hair, hazel eyes, face decorated in paint, with threadbared fists clenching. Mingled gasps and exclamations surged from the others as he walked forward, fearless of her imposing nature, of her icy stare, of her ire. For the first time in forever, Rheshu was amused. 

“Hit me. If you can hit me, I’ll let you finish your sentence.” Rheshu urged.

He squinted, wariness was firmly set in his brow. 

He tensed up and lashed out, swinging his huge fist at Rheshu’s head. 

The thrill in his eyes was short-lived. Rheshu’s hand stopped his fist dead in its tracks. With horrifying speed and precision, a leg whirled around to jab her heel into his head, knocking him to the ground. Rheshu bent down, her knee digging into the back of his neck. Her fingers curled around his arm. 

“What’s your name?” Rheshu asked.

“E-Eonar...” 

The pressure built, her arm flexed. 

**SNAP.**

Their audience flinched, grimaced, looked away. Eonar screamed and screamed, Rheshu holding him down until he fell silent. His Ghost swore profusely, panels spinning rapidly as it mended its Guardian’s broken bones.

“And why are you a Titan?” Again, asked.

“Because I’m a triggerhappy, prone-to-violence, empty-headed machine.” Eonar huffed.

Satisfied with herself, Rheshu released her vice-like grip. Eonar stumbled to his feet, rolling his shoulder, a muscular arm restored to its former grandeur. 

“See?” Rheshu said, smiling, “See how we all worked together just now? Me, you, your Ghost... Everyone played their part, everyone gets credit.” 

Eonar gave her one last death-stare before wandering off. 

“Go practice.” She ordered. 

Silence struck a cruel blow as she heard their Sparrow engines hiss away. She could hear Orchus’ voice at the back of her skull, scolding Rheshu with her infamous don’t-do-that look. The “you have the potential to be nicer” lie, the “they are just Newborns” excuse. Old habits are hard to break, she’d always reply. It wasn’t Orchus' fault. They had torn apart worlds together, through metal and flesh they helped the Iron Lords conquer the most bloodthirsty of Risen Warlords, they were the guiding hand when humanity sought refuge beneath the shadow of the inactive Traveler, joined Rezyl Azzir’s stand, renamed as Guardians...

They’d been through a lot, yet Orchus only scratched the surface of Rheshu's complicated life. 

She stood there for a solid minute before her Ghost buzzed around her. 

“You have an incoming call,” Nyx said. 

“If it’s the Vanguard—”

“It’s not from them. It’s from an interstellar vessel far out, a distress beacon.” 

Rheshu’s helm materialized around her, answering the call.

“What’s the problem?” She demanded. 

Static. 

“Last City, Earth is receiving your transponder. Ident and coordinates required. Over.”

“You’re a Guardian.” A voice pierced the white noise like a bullet. 

“Yes,” She said slowly. “Who are you?”

“I have to keep that a secret. However, I feel myself slowly unraveling now.” 

“That’s somewhat cosmic and vaguely threatening. But what’s your problem?”

“By now, they’ve detected a call outside the system, they’ll be here soon. But It’s good to know you’re out there.” 

Call ended.


End file.
